Painting Love
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: What a waste a painting would be... if it did not have red.


Her easel, splattered with varieties of hues-most noticeably red-stood before her. As she held her palette with caked on pigments, her cherry lips pursed in a displeased manner. Truly, she had overachieved in her endeavors to capture her emotions in her adventure. An adventure to eradicate those who dispelled the lives of the innocent. The unborn. However, as she disdainfully sneered at the inanimate object before her, she viciously kicked the wooden legs supporting her masterwork.

"Too little red," she mused to herself. Gripping her delicate art utensil in her blood red fingernails, she poised at the foot of her fallen creation. If one were poetic enough, one would think that it was a scene depicting a fallen angel. _My, how the might have fallen._

"Too much work," she maliciously spat," for a disappointment." Placing her pigment caked hand on her chin she pretended to think things over a bit.

As her frail figure lurched forehead, as if to attack the painting, a black glove seized her pale arm. In her hast of bloodlust and near insanity, she had failed to notice the unearthly presence of her resident butler. Her butler, as she called him, had a faint smile on his disturbingly feminine features. From what she can tell, bemusement emanated from his figure, a fact that irritated the noble to no end. Dropping her paintbrush, she shunted her butler aside, huffed indignantly, and looked in a direction away from her servant.

"Grell." Her voice held no emotion, yet laced with embarrassment. As she watched her loyal helper smirk with no remorse-or even shame for that matter-she turned back to him, hackles raised.

"You know, my lady," as he observed the wreckage that his dear lady caused to her drawing," you could salvage it." He looked to his mistress for guidance. When he found only desperation and unconcealed anger at his outspoken behavior, he simply nodded. "Shall we provide the red?"

If the sudden interest in her personal project was any indication to his actions to catch the noble off guard, Miss Durless provided no amusement to her supernatural charge. With a cool onceover, she coldly replied," And how are we supposed to provide the red you speak of?"

Shaking his head back and forth that even his low ponytail swished back and forth, he looked slyly at his contractor. Wagging his fingers in a girlish manner, he only served to infuriate the scarlet clad woman before him.

"My, my, seems you're a bit testy today?" Swiftly removing his ebony gloves, his hands caressed her cheek. As he moved in like a predator to his kill, a jagged grin emerged from his usually human appearance. Placing his sharp fingernail against her cheek, he gently pushed against the rouge-covered skin, eliciting deep red blood from the barely noticeable gash.

He merely laughed as she tried to slap away his inhuman hands away. With a crazed look in his bright, piercing eyes orbs, he cooed," Did I say we Madam? I meant you… Miss Angelina Durless."

At that point the rosy-attired elite of society had enough of her advisor's witty antics to aggravate her. In a blind rage, she forcefully knocked him down while salty tears leaked from her eyes. Her deep red pools of sadness were like windows to her soul. They were tainted with the unforgivable sin that she felt no guilt for. Ideally, a Death God's fantasy from a break from paperwork if one of the deathly beings came to reap her.

"I am Madam Red! Not Angelia Durless!" She fell to her knees in sadness and disbelief. How could she have lost her head like that? She was supposed to be strong and calm for her dear-

"Intent on fulfilling your title, eh?" Leering over his fallen paramour, he gently set her upright, hands carefully encircling her waist. Tightly, her held her close, rocking her like a mother does to her child. When the high-pitched sobs sputtered out into labored breathing, he made his employer look at him fully.

"Christened that name once," he took her smaller hand in his own," so shall it forever be."

Slicing her palm carefully, to avoid the major ousting of blood, he casually led her to the horrid portrait.

It was time to paint.


End file.
